


An Unwise Tactic

by Sunnybone



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Makeup Sex, Post-Time Skip, Semi-Public Sex, haven't done GD yet so please excuse Claude lmao, this is my first smut and I went BUCKwild, was supposed to be PWP but I am incapable of avoiding plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 06:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20271271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnybone/pseuds/Sunnybone
Summary: *Mild spoilers for Black Eagles route*Hubert has his own tactic for negotiating with the Almyran ambassador to the Adrestian Empire; Ferdinand is not pleased when he sees it in action.





	An Unwise Tactic

Hubert had been too busy with: protecting Lady Edelgard; organizing things for her ascension to the throne behind the scenes; keeping the Church in the dark to their actions; investigating those who slither in the dark without seeming to be investigating; and honestly just surviving the months at Garreg Mach leading to Lady Edelgard's showing her hand, for him to have ever gotten to know Claude von Riegan.

Certainly he had observed the other man—gauged him as a threat to his Lady as he did with all others—but simple observation could only tell one so much. He had concluded at the time that Riegan was bright, of a twisting mind, and not a danger to Lady Edelgard's dream insomuch as he was too gutless to put up the kind of resistance needed to stop her. He might have tallied him as a potential ally, if he had thought Riegan had the stomach for the bloodshed Hubert knew his Lady regrettably required.

He had admired Riegan's tactics in the Empire's assault on Derdriu, but he had still lost in the face of Lady Edelgard's resolve and Professor Byleth's own tactics. This had not surprised Hubert, of course, but it would be a lie to say Claude's bravado hadn't impressed him somewhat—to surrender when the proverbial axe was at his neck and offer himself as a potential ally, and then to showcase his skill by returning simply to speak with the professor. Hubert had mentally filed him as someone to keep a watch for.

Now, the war was years past, Fódlan was reunified under Emperor Edelgard, and Claude von Riegan had risen politically in his homeland of Almyra. Eventually, Hubert and his Lady were certain, Claude would stand ruler over their neighboring land—for now, however, he was their ambassador.

Hubert knew Claude much better, now.

As Minister of the Imperial Household, Hubert spent a large amount of his time in Emperor Edelgard's presence; in many situations as a shadow, but in her dealings with Claude he sat as her left hand, keeping her documents, serving her tea... and of course keeping the most watchful eye in the Empire on an ally who had once proved a formidable enemy. It allowed him to watch Claude in action, to interact with him politically, and to form observations for his Emperor.

The most potent observation he had made, which his Lady shared, was that Claude was a political genius. His mind could turn in unexpected directions, make connections others might miss, and find levers to shift even the most recalcitrant of obstacles. Negotiating with him when your goals differed could be a trial, and they had been lucky so far in that their goals rarely differed to extremes.

The second most potent observation, which was also the most amusing, was that Claude was not above emotional manipulation. His favored tactic against Hubert and Emperor Edelgard was one they found especially charming in its hilarity—he liked to flirt a bit with Hubert when he wasn't getting his way, and even a bit when he was. At first he had tried to flirt with Emperor Edelgard, which Hubert had _not_ found amusing—it might have been acceptable if he was already ruling Almyra and thus her peer, but it wasn't the standard of respect she deserved from a mere _ambassador._ He hadn't said as much, because he didn't want to encourage Claude to return when he _was_ ruling Almyra, but he had made his displeasure at the slight clear.

Claude had misunderstood, but he wouldn't have been the first; the number of people who believed the Emperor and her Minister of the Imperial Household were romantically involved were about as numerous as those who believed the Emperor and her prime minister were romantically involved. Every one of either number were wrong—Hubert thought it was delightfully ironic that none of them considered _he and Ferdinand_ might be involved, while Ferdinand found it slightly baffling. Neither endeavored to hide it, after all. Hubert supposed most people saw their competition to best serve the Emperor as a battle for her affection, and didn't bother to correct anyone.

Either way, Claude had misunderstood, and had clearly derived amusement from Hubert's displeasure. He had seemed even more amused when he turned his charms towards Hubert, who had been surprised enough to respond—not in a particularly encouraging way, but with a low-grade threat of some petty physical violence, perhaps choking, that had sparked something in Claude's expression and sharpened the teasing, flirtatious grin. “Promises, promises,” Riegan had returned, and that had been the start of their new negotiating game.

Emperor Edelgard and Ambassador Riegan would disagree slightly over something, and when Claude got tired of meeting her iron will at every twist of his thoughts, or their goals were in accordance but he found himself growing bored, he would appeal to Hubert in practically sultry tones and with looks that were decidedly not platonic to amuse himself. Hubert and his Lady found it to be quite funny, and Hubert had grown so used to it that he had relaxed into a banter of rebuffs and threats that were downright playful, if not flirtatious on their own.

Still, there was nothing of a serious nature behind it—they both treated it as a political game, and their game never carried over to their interactions outside of negotiations. They were polite, perhaps even a bit friendly, but Claude seemed to understand that Hubert's retorts were not to be taken seriously; his Lady joked that Riegan feared the total breakdown of international relations should he overstep with 'her' Hubert.

Hubert might even consider Claude von Riegan to be something of a friend by this point. He was, at the least, an amusing person to match wits and wills with.

This afternoon's meeting was no different on Claude's account, though the Emperor was not present. It occurred sometimes that she was too taxed to meet with Claude over some tiny detail, and Hubert would sit in her stead, trusted enough by his Lady and too used to Claude's tricks to fall for them. Today, though, the matter they met on was of consequence, and so Ferdinand was present as well.

Ferdinand had worked with Claude and the Emperor to plot an important trade route based on old routes when Almyra had been on friendlier terms with the former Leicester Alliance, and it had taken up much of his free time in the past two weeks. Considering that Ferdinand dealt with the myriad aboveboard details of running the Empire that were too small to trouble the Emperor with but too important to ignore, Ferdinand usually had precious little free time; Hubert had not seen much of him with his own work, and he had been somewhat looking forward to having the thing over with.

Now Claude was dithering about signing the agreement.

“Claude,” he drawled, beginning to feel the first prickles of real annoyance, “your suggestions for the terms were noted weeks ago, and this is the route Her Majesty agreed upon. Duke Aegir worked with you personally upon the maps, and it was agreed all parties were satisfied.” He sighed, leaning forward, one hand under his chin in a pose quite a few enemies had seen before their demise. “I begin to feel you are balking only to vex me, personally.”

“Oh, personally?” Claude leaned in likewise from his side of the table, putting on the charming smile. “Is it working?”

“As ever,” he sighed; Hubert was quite busy today, and it seemed their ambassador was bored.

“Oh, dear. How vexed would you say you are?” Playfully curious, and Hubert held back another sigh—_very_ bored.

“Exceptionally,” he replied, both hands now clasped beneath his chin as he leaned forward on both elbows.

“_Exceptionally_,” Claude repeated, as if tasting the word, and then pointed to a marking on the map that detailed the proposed route. “I'm not feeling very positive about the number of soldiers to be assigned to this border post, it feels almost _exceptionally_ disproportionate for such a small mountain pass.” He rested his chin in his palm and graced Hubert with a different smile, one which Hubert's mind always labeled 'provocative'; it was one Claude donned when he wished to provoke Hubert, after all. From the small noise Ferdinand made in the seat to his right, Hubert supposed it might be the sort of smile to provoke anyone. “Perhaps you could _re_-convince me that it's in Almyra's best interest.”

Hubert leaned further forward and returned a smile of his own, something darker that hinted he would derive great pleasure from Claude's suffering; as usual, Claude's smile only grew sharper. Hubert's tone was low and deceptively soft, and his sharp eyes caught the shiver it gave Claude.

“The crossing is advantageous for wyvern-mounted units, by your own admission; thus the number of Empire soldiers is a paltry precaution. You are currently wasting even more of Duke Aegir's time than you did the last two weeks, and as always wasting mine. Will you sign, or shall I simply throttle you that we may get on with our day?”

“You always offer and never follow through,” Claude replied, the tiniest whine in his voice, his grin stretching into his palm.

“Well, Her Majesty isn't here, and I doubt Ferdinand would be much interested in stopping me after the time he's spent on this.” He paused for a moment, let it linger, and then leaned back a bit with a regretful look. “Still, it _would_ be tiresome to train a new ambassador; I suppose throttling you is out of the question.” Hubert held out a quill, and Claude laughed as he took it, pulling the copies of the trade agreement close to begin signing them.

“Tease.”

+

It wasn't until Claude had left with his copies of the agreement to file them at the Almyran embassy and Hubert was alone with Ferdinand that he realized his partner had been unusually silent from the start of Claude's fussing. Hubert had advised that Ferdinand let him handle Claude should he become difficult, but he was surprised the man had actually _listened_. Looking at his face now, he could tell Ferdinand was troubled by something, and he was not at all surprised when he stiffly asked if Hubert had a _moment_.

“Unfortunately, Riegan truly _did _waste my time—I'm wanted somewhere on Business.” Ferdinand and Emperor Edelgard both knew that meant Shadowy Dealings Best Left To Hubert's Discretion, and Hubert watched as Ferdinand's already tense mouth tightened. “Walk with me, I can see that it's important.” Ferdinand nodded, but didn't relax an iota as they entered the hallway, and Hubert braced for the outpouring when Ferdinand's composure would inevitably break under whatever he was upset about.

“What, exactly, was that?” Ferdinand finally asked, voice tight.

“What was what, specifically?” There were any number of things that Ferdinand could have found issue with, and Hubert was loath to spend time guessing. Ferdinand made a scoffing noise.

“That, in there, with Claude?” The tightness had pressed a coal of upset into a hard diamond of barely concealed anger, and he pronounced their ambassador's name with uncharacteristic venom. Hubert sighed, waving a hand.

“Riegan was bored—there was never any issue with the deal, which I _do_ admit you planned out beautifully.” Ferdinand had practically slaved over it, honestly, devoting every free moment of two weeks to poring over old maps and records of imports, exports, troop movements, and weather patterns. Hubert had cajoled him into sleeping at least twice by hinting that he might get sloppy and shame his nobility or such nonsense; thinking about it he was truly annoyed at Claude for wasting Ferdinand's time as well, today. “He only wanted a rise out of us before he signed, to amuse himself.”

Ferdinand laughed, but it was bitter, and Hubert began to worry.

“Are you really—I am not talking about the deal, I am _talking_ about your, your _negotiation tactics_.” Ah, of course, and Hubert prepared himself for the coming argument, suddenly aware of how tired he was and remembering how he had looked forward to being done with this trade deal. This was not how he had hoped to spend his time with Ferdinand, but it was what it was.

“I see. I suppose you consider my tactics underhanded and ignoble—I should have argued pointlessly for hours and wasted our time _nobly_.” He expected a retort about Moral Uprightness, or the Duty of the Nobility to be Above Reproach; Hubert did not expect the shocked little noise or the look of hurt that crossed Ferdinand's face.

“I _consider_ them personally offensive,” Ferdinand returned, and the hurt was palpable, “as I do not _enjoy_ watching the man I love carry on with another as though I were not _right there_.”

Hubert stopped in his tracks, poleaxed. His weakly surprised “Oh” only seemed to serve to make Ferdinand angrier.

Hubert had miscalculated, badly—this was not going to be one of their typical years-old arguments about nobility and how to best serve Lady Edelgard; this was the sort of careless, frankly callous mistake he had honestly expected to characterize their relationship from the start. Nearly his entire life had been spent dedicated to Lady Edelgard, he knew her temperament and through familiarity of years it was no effort to understand her—he worried more for her physical safety than any vague possibility of hurting her feelings.

Other people, though, he found hard to read so well. He was a good judge of character, but there were still those who surprised him with emotions he had overlooked or misjudged—Ferdinand himself had done it during the war, so openly admitting he'd gotten Hubert a gift. It had been three years, though, and Hubert should have known Ferdinand well enough by now to realize he was too earnest of a person to view Hubert's banter with Claude as anything but a blatant abuse. The fact that Hubert had never considered an issue might arise...

He rubbed a hand over his face, looked around as if to ground himself, and spotted one of the deep alcoves along the hallway meant for displaying decorative armor and portraits of long dead von Hresvelgs. If he was going to wind up in a shouting match with Ferdinand, as they had done a few times before, it would be better done anywhere but the middle of this hallway. He reached for Ferdinand's arm and was gratified when Ferdinand let Hubert lead him to the alcove.

“I'm sorry, I obviously misunderstood,” he said as soon as they were slightly less in the open. “It wasn't my intention to slight you, and my conversation with Riegan was purely as you said: a tactic.” Ferdinand put a hand to the side of his head, fingers pressed into his hair in frustration.

“And this is a _tactic_ you employ often? I find that hard to believe, Hubert.”

“Against Claude? Occasionally, when he seems receptive.” Hubert did not allow himself the nervous shrug that wanted to press his shoulders. “He seems to believe it annoys Lady Edelgard if he is flirtatious, and we have found that he can be more amenable if I...react.” Now he did allow himself the defense of crossing his arms, watching as Ferdinand's face went through several emotions—surprise gave way to a mercifully brief flit of disgust that was replaced by disappointment, and right back around to anger.

“So, you are doing this for _Edelgard_?” If it weren't such a tense moment Hubert might have laughed at such a loaded question. Of _course_ he was doing it for Lady Edelgard, there wasn't a thing he did that _wasn't_—but he knew this just went back to an argument almost 10 years old, now. “She tells you to handle Claude and you just, what, '_react'_? It does not _bother _you?” Hubert knew, immediately, that Ferdinand wasn't talking about being bothered by engaging with Claude—he had seen for himself that Hubert was wholly unbothered by it, which was some part of his unhappiness. This was about Hubert 'thinking for himself' instead of obeying blindly as Ferdinand saw it.

If he let Ferdinand work himself on that topic much more, he'd be charging off any minute to express his grievance to Lady Edelgard, and Hubert could not handle the day ending with Ferdinand giving Her Majesty a Strongly Worded talk about Exploiting Hubert. He really could not. Lady Edelgard was far too busy for that.

Instead, he unfolded his arms and took hold of the front of Ferdinand's shirt to preemptively keep him from storming off. Ferdinand looked up at him, still angry, but waiting for Hubert to say his piece. “I am _doing_ this because it hastens progress for Fódlan. If indulging that fool's games means less time is wasted on arguing over a document which will be signed either way, why shouldn't I?” He knew Ferdinand hated his attitude that the greater good of protecting Lady Edelgard's peace was worth sullying himself, but it was an attitude Hubert had held too long to change.

“And just how far have you _indulged_ him, Hubert?” It came out angry and cruel, wholly unlike Ferdinand, and Hubert could see on Ferdinand's face that he instantly regretted saying it. He still released Ferdinand and backed a step in surprised hurt.

He had forgotten that he _could_ be hurt, it happened so rarely.

There were any number of distasteful things Hubert would do in defense of his Lady's dream, but there were things she would not even think to ask, and lines even he would not cross; he had executed his own father for breaking loyalty to the imperial family—did Ferdinand think Hubert valued his own loyalty to Ferdinand any less? That three years of devotion did not mean something inviolable to Hubert? Was Hubert truly so incapable of making Ferdinand feel loved?

“That...was beneath you, Ferdinand,” he managed. All of the anger had gone out of Ferdinand's frame, and now he just looked ashamed and a bit frightened—Hubert felt about the same.

“I am sorry, I know that was—I know _you_. I did not mean that, I am just. That was _wrong_ of me. I apologize.” Ferdinand moved to him, reached for him and seemed to gain confidence when Hubert didn't pull away, instead turned his cheek into Ferdinand's palm.

“You didn't mean it,” he said, suddenly _so_ tired and only wanting to not be arguing, to have not made this mistake in the first place. “I didn't think it was important, just. One more thing that I do that doesn't apply to this. I never considered it could upset you; I apologize.” Ferdinand took a deep breath, let it out slowly as he shook his head, his shoulders straightening. Hubert knew another apology was forthcoming.

“I _didn't_ mean it, and it shouldn't have been said. I am—“ he cut off as Hubert kissed him. Most of their arguments these days went that way eventually, a roundabout of apologies until someone put a stop to it. Hubert had meant it more to be an end to this particular round of apologies, but they had both been so busy lately and Ferdinand was still worked up, and Hubert found himself pressed into the wall between two of the uselessly ornate suits of armor.

“I was not done,” Ferdinand said, even as he pressed a kiss to the line of Hubert's jaw. “I am still angry, but—“ Ferdinand’s fingers were at the nape of his neck, climbing into his hair, and he tilted his head back with a sigh so Ferdinand could continue to his throat. Ferdinand made a frustrated noise against the spot where shirt-collar met skin, and Hubert had a moment to realize they were pressed into an alcove kissing like a couple of teenagers after the Garreg Mach Ball instead of two Imperial officials who were almost thirty. He almost brought it up, but then Ferdinand pressed against him _just so_ and growled into his neck, “I am angriest about the way he _looked_ at you.”

Hubert forgot all about being jammed into an alcove in a public hallway in the Imperial Palace, forgot everything in that moment except Ferdinand pressing him into the wall with possessive force and the fact that he was already hard against the thigh Ferdinand had thrust against him.

Hubert was used to people looking at Ferdinand, admiring and desiring him; Ferdinand was beautiful, after all, and he was an obscenely good catch for anyone looking to improve their connections; he was close with the Emperor and her highest officials, was considered doubly worthy of his title after his efforts in the war, and was well liked by most due to his policies. Politically his Crest was less important now, but there were still plenty of people who thought it mattered. Hubert was well acquainted with people wanting Ferdinand, and he felt no jealousy over it—Ferdinand was his, and he was too earnest and devoted and _noble_ to pay admirers attention, let alone notice them most of the time.

Ferdinand, however, never seemed to get used to it when people paid attention to _Hubert_; it happened far less, largely he knew because of his reputation and his closeness to Lady Edelgard, and the fact that he made himself purposely unapproachable—but every once in a while there was some fool who had ambitions, or even worse, thought he was dark and brooding. Hubert was always darkly amused, but Ferdinand could get...possessive. Ferdinand wasn't passive by any stretch, and his earnesty made him bold about what he wanted, but when he felt possessive he became assertive in a way that left Hubert no chance of taking the lead.

Hubert had forgotten about that, too, when he had flirted with Claude, but he was going to consider it a silver lining.

“How, exactly?” he asked, and Ferdinand's hand in his hair tugged just enough to sting before coming around to turn his face to Ferdinand's kiss, a scold for what he saw as a tease—Hubert genuinely wanted him to elaborate though, truly _hoped_ he would, in fact. Ferdinand must have felt it in the way Hubert's hands couldn't seem to find a place to settle, roaming almost needily, and he caught Hubert's hands and pressed them to his own hips.

“He looked at you,” he answered, creating just enough space between their bodies to work his hand into the front of Hubert's pants, “like you were something he could have.” Hubert hissed and bucked as Ferdinand slid his palm across his erection, his grip on Ferdinand's hips tight, tugging, trying to pull him even closer. Ferdinand shook his head, murmuring a sound of dissent, and kissed Hubert hard enough that he barely noticed as Ferdinand freed his cock from his pants.

He did notice, with a small noise of unhappiness, when Ferdinand stepped back and their bodies separated; he had a bare moment to feel confused and needy to an undignified degree, and then Ferdinand was sliding down to his knees in front of Hubert.

“_Ferdie._” Hubert saw the shiver that rocked Ferdinand's whole body, felt it in the hands Ferdinand had put on his hips.

“I could not stand the thought of him touching you,” Ferdinand said, staring up at him from between his legs, and for a second Hubert forgot who the hell they were talking about because who else but _Ferdinand_ could ever be allowed to touch him, could _possibly_ make him feel like _this_? He reached down to stroke Ferdinand’s cheek, Ferdinand turning his face into Hubert’s palm in a mirror of earlier.

“Only you,” Hubert murmured, and he knew it was nonsensical but Ferdinand would understand, there was too much of it Hubert couldn't put into proper words.

Hubert was the one who had made the mistake that had started this, really it ought to be him pleasing Ferdinand—but Ferdinand was kneeling before him, hand on Hubert’s hip and mouth achingly close to his cock as he looked up at him through his lashes. Hubert may have made the mistake, but he knew his partner well enough: Ferdinand needed to feel in control right now, and most of all he needed to please Hubert, to prove that he _could_, and that no one else could do it so _well_.

The absolute possession in that gaze honestly had Hubert panting. Ferdinand actually smirked at him before leaning forward and taking Hubert’s cock in his mouth, and then Hubert’s head fell back against the wall and he was moaning into his hand because damn it they were in a _hallway_ and if they got interrupted Ferdinand would _stop_–

He watched, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other tangled in Ferdinand’s hair, as Ferdinand sucked him off, one hand bracing himself on Hubert’s hip and the other down the front of his own pants. Hubert thought that was unfair, that he couldn’t watch Ferdinand touch himself, but then their eyes met and he decided it didn't matter because he was going to perish anyways from the way Ferdinand was looking at him.

Ferdinand was watching him, eyes dark with want and practically devouring his every reaction, every flinch and stifled moan, the deep flush of his usually pale skin. He must have seen that Hubert was on the edge, because suddenly he was gripping Hubert’s hips with both hands; Hubert realized his own hand was no longer in Ferdinand’s hair, but bracing himself against the wall—and then he came, and he hoped to hell his shout was muffled by his hand because he honestly couldn’t tell. His blood was rushing in his ears and the whole world seemed to focus in on Ferdinand, hands on Hubert’s hips holding him still, mouth still on his cock as Hubert finished; then Ferdinand leaned back and swallowed, their eyes still locked.

Ferdinand stared up at him, flushed and messy, fine tears on his lower lashes and lips just barely swollen, wet with spit and a few stray beads of cum; Hubert reached down and swiped a thumb across Ferdinand’s bottom lip, catching the cum—and then he felt his knees go weak as he released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Ferdinand smirked again as his grip kept Hubert from completely collapsing, helping him down onto his knees with Ferdinand.

It was where Hubert wanted to be, anyways, because he needed to be on his knees to reach Ferdinand’s mouth to kiss him, to reach Ferdinand’s still-hard cock with his hands. He could taste himself in Ferdinand’s kiss, and Ferdinand gasped into his mouth when Hubert wrapped fingers around his cock. He stroked and Ferdinand bucked, moaning, over-sensitive already from his own ministrations and close to coming.

Ferdinand’s hands were tight on Hubert’s shoulders as he leaned against him, aching to get closer, and Hubert wished they weren’t in a hallway so he could fuck him properly, loud and begging—_later,_ but Ferdinand was _always_ loud and begging, and Hubert guided his partner’s face against his shoulder with his free hand on the back of Ferdinand’s head, fingers in his hair. He held Ferdinand there as he started a slow rhythm with his hand and Ferdinand positively whimpered into his shoulder.

“Hush,” he admonished gently in Ferdinand's ear, punctuating it with a twist of his fingers, and Ferdinand sucked in a sharp breath. Hubert sped up his rhythm and Ferdinand pressed his mouth to Hubert's shoulder to smother his moans. Hubert felt the tension in his body hit a familiar point he knew perfectly, and twisted his fingers again—

Ferdinand shuddered and came, biting down on Hubert's shoulder with a groan before practically collapsing into him. He turned his face, leaning it against Hubert's neck, and Hubert felt eyelashes flutter against his skin as Ferdinand mumbled “_Fuck_.” It was enough to have Hubert mentally readjusting his schedule for the day as he did his best to clean Ferdinand up; Hubert's glove was a mess beyond salvage, so he took them both off and used them to wipe up what he could. He spared a moment to be thankful the floor was bare marble.

“I'll help,” Ferdinand murmured, still not quite all there, but Hubert hmm'd a negative—Ferdinand was always a bit useless for a minute after he'd come, and besides Hubert liked taking care of him. It didn't take long anyways to get them set to rights, or at least decent, and when he was finished he just held Ferdinand and waited for him to come out of his haze, placing a soft kiss to the corner of Ferdinand's mouth.

While he waited he calculated—he had definitely missed the window to conclude his Business today, but he always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, so he wasn't worried about it. He could use the open afternoon to take care of a few errands that would have filled the evening, and he could push the paperwork to tomorrow if he got up early enough. He stroked a hand over Ferdinand's hair, pulling stray strands out of his face.

They hadn't had sex like that since the last months of the war, when Ferdinand had come out and said they could die any day so they ought to stop dancing around whatever was between them, and Hubert had had to agree he was right. Those were desperate, hurried months, busier and more likely to die with each day, and the sex had been the same—desperate and hurried. It wasn't _bad_, but it wasn't sustainable, either, and when they had finally won the war and things had calmed down, Hubert had wondered if they might grow bored of each other now that the frantic edge was gone.

He had felt incredibly stupid, of course, the first time they hadn't been rushed, because it was so much better that there was no way they were going to get bored. Ferdinand had actually laughed when he had admitted it.

It was nice, the frantic neediness of a rushed encounter, but it didn't hold a candle to fucking Ferdinand into a mattress until he cried.

Ferdinand made a small noise in his arms and shifted, leaning away. “Hubert,” he said slowly, and when Hubert looked down at him there was dawning horror and a blush rising across his face, “we are in a _hallway_.”

“Good of you to notice,” he replied, and he didn't bother fighting the stupid grin that crossed his face. “Are you busy tonight?”

+

It wasn't long before he saw Claude again, stopping into the other man's office at the embassy to hand-deliver documents with the Emperor's seal on them, too important to trust to just anyone. Claude greeted him amiably enough, and they went over possible dates for coordinating a diplomatic dinner. As he was leaving, Hubert stopped and turned to Claude.

“Ah, I suppose I should let you know now, to avoid future problems.” Claude looked up from where he sat at his desk, curious. “I'm afraid I can't indulge in our little wordplays anymore, in the interest of keeping relations between the Empire and Almyra pleasant. I'm certain you can understand.” Claude's eyebrows had gone up as he spoke, then drawn down into a look of deep curiosity. He leaned forward on his desk with a grin.

“Oh? Did Her Emperorness finally snap?” He raised and lowered his brows suggestively, and Hubert almost laughed—Lady Edelgard _absolutely_ would when he told her about it later.

“Oh, no,” he said instead, “Her Majesty has no interest in where I spend my...affections.” He lifted a hand beneath his chin, cupping his elbow with his free hand. “Duke Aegir, on the other hand, is very particular about the matter, and I would find it tedious to dissuade him from trying to duel you, however pleasant I might find the dissuasion.” Claude stared at him in surprise for a moment, and then laughed, nodding.

“Oh, that makes _so_ much more sense.” When Hubert raised a questioning brow, Claude relaxed back into his chair with an almost teasing smile. “I ran into Ferdinand yesterday morning, so I thought I'd thank him for all the work he did on the trade agreement—I _did_ waste his time, after all. I _thought _it was strange that usually-so-friendly Ferdie looked like he wanted to knock my beautiful teeth out even as he accepted my thanks; I mean, I wasted his time, sure, but that's not the kind of thing he seems apt to hold a grudge about.”

“Oh.” Hubert stood surprised for a moment, inordinately pleased. He tried to keep it off of his face, but judging by the growing size of Claude's grin it was not happening.

“Congratulations?” Claude tried.

“Years too late for _that_, Riegan. In any case, I'm afraid you'll have to find something else to amuse yourself—I would greatly appreciate if you tried to find something not _too_ bothersome.”

“It's a real shame, no one threatens quite like you do, all sultry,” Claude said with a wistful little sigh. “It's fun. _But_, I understand, and I am sure I will find something else to keep me occupied. And, I promise, _just_ for you, to try not to be _too_ bothersome.” The look on Claude's face gave Hubert the feeling that their ideas of what constituted 'bothersome' were very different, as well as what degree of bothersome 'too' bothersome was.

He supposed he would just have to live with it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, thanks so much for reading my horny monstrosity and I hope y'all enjoyed it ;U;
> 
> May, possibly, have a sequel when I get around to Golden Deer route ;)
> 
> Find me on Twitter [@AceMorningStar](https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar)


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